


BRO: Get w-w-wrecked

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Homesmut fills [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Background Relationships, Bad Dirty Talk, Biting, Bulges, Choking, Fucked Up, M/M, Rough Sex, Violent Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone decides to hookup with Gamzee, expect some slow sweet stoner sex, but Gamzee turns out to be a seme in the sheets and a scary one at that, with creepy dirty talk. His partner isn't complaining, in fact they think it's hot, but they are shocked and they wonder where all this came from.</p>
<p>I'd prefer his partner not be any of the usual suspects like Tavros, Karkat, or Equius. I'd like someone rare like Sollux or Rose. A usual suspect can appear to confirm that when they hooked up with Gamzee he was like that and no, they don't know where it came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BRO: Get w-w-wrecked

Hooking up with the stoner troll who is cuddlebuddies with the real fuckin' loud one that the lil man is currently locking lips with is not something that you think of, right at the start. Mostly, it's something of an irritation to have them in the apartment. It's too small for this many people, hanging out on your futon and you're dead certain after the first date-not-date that the shoutmeister has no idea how to operate his volume control or his chill, let alone how to enjoy Tony Hawk ironically. It's obvious that he takes the competitive gaming completely serious and can't see the beauty of an eternally glitching skateboarder half in and half out of a wall. What Dave sees in him you're not exactly fucking sure, but it's not like it's your business. Not beyond engineering a droptrap of condoms, and a 'Congratulations on the sex' cake that you leave in the middle of his bed carefully tucked in sweet and cosy under the covers. Kid can take care of himself, he's old enough to now. Not that he's ever yet managed to put you on your ass in a strife, but you're pretty sure he's smart enough to bang without winding up with a case of pustulant crotchrot. Can humans even catch something from trolls? You're not sure; while you don't always do human, a smuppet isn't exactly going to make your dick fall off. You may be a perverted puppetfucker, but you're a clean puppetfucker and you keep things sanitary.

But the troll with the slender hellgoat horns is always there at the same time that you are, and he's around and you're both kind of third wheeling it around the twin sun constellation of shouty Vantas and Dave. You should probably be fuckin ashamed of yourself, considering a sentient who's about your brother's age, give or take a sweep, for a quick lil hump and grind. You're a god damn cradle robber, a cocoon snatcher, that's for sure. Still, you don't want him for long. Just a lil while. For such a skinny bastard, he's got one hell of an ass and those polka-dotted pants look like they drop real easy. It'll be something slow and easy, you're pretty sure. He looks sleepy-eyed every motherfucking second of the day, if he was human you'd say he was smoking weed constantly, barely able to unhook his mouth from the bong. Trolls don't really dance with Mary Jane or Molly, as far as you know but you're pretty sure he's on something.

You're _pretty_ drunk when you press your mouth against his, curl your fingers around his skinny wrist at the club you've been dropping wicked beats at all night and taste the dead-alive tingle of his alien mouth, just like licking the top of a battery to test whether it's live and finding out it is when your flesh makes the connection for the weak current. You're...pretty sure that's not how most trolls taste, something rotten-sweet, something somehow citrus-y and underneath the taste that flare, exactly like licking a fucking battery. He kinda gives in under your mouth, then surges up and you get a real little tussle going before he turns and slams you up into the wall instead. _Hell_ -o, because this bag of sticks and facepaint did _not_ look like he should be able to do that.

It's not the last time he does that. It's not like you take it lying down.

Haha, you don't take it lying down, that's for fuckin sure. Noooope, you take it right in the _ass_. 

It's pretty much a strife from when the two of you hit the apartment to when your back hits the futon you sleep on at night. Right on the - yeah - that's the exposed bar slamming into your spine, right there. You're getting too old for this, you're pretty sure. Something in your back seizes in an ugly twist of pain that makes you unable to move for a beat - ugh fuck - and he gets those skinny fingers right around your throat and leans in over you, that sweet-rot scent hitting your nose and then your tongue as he kisses you with a mouthful of sharp teeth and chokes you until your vision goes alllll sparkly. You're bleeding when he pulls away and you spit it in his face, watch the pink-tinted gob hit his cheek, slide right down that juggalo-look-alike facepaint and he gets this _look_. Like something lights up in the back of his eyes and he surges down, kisses you harder while grinding down on the interested bump of your growing erection as you grab at his ass, pull those fucking pants down. Seriously, they're motherfucking elasticised, like a fucking geezer's pants, you're half surprised not to find fucking Depends underneath.

Alright. You've seen the porn. You are prepared for wriggling tentadick. It's one thing to see it, it's another to have it fucking try and get frisky with the front of your jeans and drooling purple slime into the denim. You just _know_ by looking at it as you glance down that it is not going to be something you're gonna be getting out with alka seltzer and lemon. You know stains, alright, specifically you know sex stains. Jizz, cum, pussy juice even once or twice before you solidified your sexuality as HELLA gay with a side of fetish for plush puppet rump. This. Is going to be a real work out - you're pretty sure you're gonna need to bin them, and that just _pisses_ you off. You push up and get your hand in his curled mane of hair to fucking _yank_ at that hellacious nasty mess and somehow this time, you both wind up on the floor with a thump that is met by another one from the downstairs occupants about three seconds later.

And you are still on the fucking bottom, what the actual _fuck_. The kid twists like a fucking snake in your arms, you can't pin him so you can get the upper hand. You're strong, but he's deceptively limber and he can flashmove _just like you can_. That's uh. You weren't expecting that, and this is why you trained Dave so hard, why you're so hard on the fuckin kid - you just can't ever expect the world to deal you a straight hand, it's full on fucking cheats and cardsharks from here to the end of eternity and everyone's looking to screw ya. 

This time he straight out slaps you, knocking your shades from here to the side of the room. You punch him back, get him right in the eye. You're both bleeding now, and you get your hands in the loose collar of his shirt and pull him down, kiss him hard, bite his mouth. He bites you back and _hot damn_ does he make a better job of it, with those sharp-edged chompers that he's got. Troll boy got some mad teeth, yo. Rolling again and fighting until he smacks your head right into a wall and you grunt as he gets his whipcord arm around your throat and chokes you out until you're panting, gagging, and humping up like a teenager that just got his first handful of a tit in someone's backseat and your eyes are fuckin bare. You can't even remember the last time someone's seen your naked eyes and he's staring you down like he's got a right to. Snap your teeth together an inch from his skin to remind him that he ain't the only predator in the jungle and he chuckles, and it's all of a sudden like you've been plunged into ice water. Skin gone cold, sweat on the back of your neck, but your dick isn't faltering under it, terror boner becoming a fuckin thing as adrenaline races along your veins and you'd swear you just saw his pupils flicker purple, purple as grapes and wisteria flowers.

"Don't even motherfucking start with this mirthful brother, Strider. You smacktalkin' bitch ass motherfucker." His hand clenches in your shirt collar and you're back to being kissed, bitten as you get your hand on his ass and squeeze. A hungry mouth all over yours, down your throat until he's gnawing at your collarbone and vore has never been your thing, you ain't got no desire to be _eaten_ but damn if you don't think he's gonna take a bite. And you're not gonna pretend to yourself that the thought isn't going straight to your prick when you think about him doing it, taking a chunk and swallowing down. You hiss and push up as you scratch his back from shoulder to ass and you're pretty sure he's bleeding now, just the way you are as you both get a real serious grind on. He undoes your jeans and you push 'em over the curve of your ass, eager enough to get down to something here your own self. "Gotta run at the motherfucking facegash, and what you really want is for someone to shut up your whore fuckin' mouth. Put you in your place right under some superior motherfucker." He catches your chin in his hand and you bite him this time, sink your teeth in real hard and good as his other hand jacks your cock painfully and too dry, thumb rubbing over the metal bars of your ladder piercing right up the underside. "Seems to me like you like some pain too, huh? Brother, _how about you motherfucking get some?_ "

Your dick throbs in his hand at the snarl, the outright ripcord buzz of it. And listening to your stupid dick is how you wind up belly down on your own fucking futon with the troll's skinny hands locked around your throat and the ridged curl of that inhuman tentacock wriggling its way into your ass. Feels good. Feels better than good. He hadn't quite taken that mouthful out of your shoulder but he'd definitely threatened to. He shoves two fingers down into your mouth, past your teeth and tickling your uvula until you gag, dangerously to the point where between the way he's fingerfucking your mouth and the amount of bourbon you downed while you were spinning that you're pretty sure you're gonna puke, and you ain't done that for damn, what. A long fuckin' ass time. You thought you couldn't anymore, that you'd worn that shit right out with the amount of thick, long puppet nose and dildos you've swallowed on camera, to say nothing about the amount of dick. Then again. When was the last time you played bottom bitch for anybody, let alone some fuckin' teenager who could fuck like, uhhh, a fucking wet dream, sweet humpin' Christ. 

You hope you're right about not being able to catch shit from trolls because you're fucked otherwise. Gone in raw, bare as a fuckin idiot virgin on prom night who's been sweet talked by her boyfriend who's gonna hit her up with a preggo belly and chlamydia then never call her when he leaves for college. Fuck, he's cold. Ice, ice, baby. Only get this kinda chill when you stick your glass toys in the fridge, and the cold doesn't linger like this. You curl your tongue around his fingers as he straight out fucks your throat with three of 'em now, you're gonna be hoarse in the morning and the slick pulse of his bulge up your ass gets _real_ friendly with your prostate. Oh hey, hello, oh shit fuck yes, just like that. You kinda garble a moan around his fingers in between gnawing on them and he makes a hellcricket noise in your ear, chirpy and rattling like a serial killer's chainsaw.

"You like it, motherfucking human whore. Look at you, you just achin' to get all up and fucking filled. Some big motherfucking bad ass, you'd love nothing more than another bulge right in your face. Bet you'd do it for a whole motherfucking bunch of us. You're achin' to play a bucket for a motherfucker, huh, want to get filled 'till a blasphemous bitch be about to pop? I'm gonna leave you some nice motherfuckin' reminders of your place, bucketslut, gonna leave my motherfuckin' mark." He pulls out of your mouth and your ass and you groan, long and low as he pushes at your hip. Feeling magna-fucking-nimous (and horny as hell, you can't deny), you turn over, spread your thighs and feel the throb in your asshole as he bellies up to you again and slips that slick Christ forsaken hentai-fucktentacle right back inside you. His hips slap against your thighs and this angle means he can get a better grip around your throat even if he ain't quite so deep in your ass. You snake a hand down and stroke yourself, rasp a nail along your piercings and against your f-spot, while he rolls his hips against you, that long piece of cool Cthulu-worthy tentacock wriggling inside your body like not even your best toys could manage while your vision goes black at the edges. Crackles. You can feel your heart beating faster, fast enough to stutter as he thrusts into you and your skin is smeared with make up, his mouth is bare and grinning while he slams into you harder. Quicker. 

He tells you how he's gonna rip out your throat, he's gonna kill you and paint the walls with your blood while he continues to rail you like you're made out of something sturdier than flesh. How much he's going to fill you, how much you're gonna swell when he uses you as a bucket. Tells you dirty disgusting things like the worst kind of fuckin gonzo porn you've ever watched, let alone been in. What he'd do to you. What he wants to do. His eyes glow and his fanged maw opens and it's nightmares all the way down. It's terrible. His dirty talk is beyond Hunter Thompson fucked up. He chokes you the whole time and terror rattles along your bones like you're a fucking kid, letting him treat you as though this is fucking what you deserve and some dirty crawling part of you enjoys the shit out of it. You come so hard you coat your chest, your god damn clavicles. You're a Pollock painting, splattered in your own sticky white. He groans out something in trollish, something with clicks and terrible rasping noises no human could make and slams in hard one last time. You can almost feel your stomach bloat as he uses you like a fuckin cumreceptacle, you're _fuck_ you're fucking filled. Just the way he motherfucking up and told you it would be, huh.

God _damn_ , you g-g-g-gotta say here boy, see here, _god damn_.

Guess they use buckets for a reason then, and it wasn't all just propaganda and pumped up for the sake of the porn like a proper JAV bukkake scene.

You get a whooping breath as he finally lets go of your throat and just manage not to pass out. He doesn't worry so much about shit, the dopey look stealing back across his face as he pulls out of you, almost climbs over your gagging, shuddering body to get onto the futon and lie down, you can feel the cold shit he pumped you with resting uneasy in your stomach and you pull yourself up once you think you can move. Ugh, fuck, this is why you don't fucking bottom any more, you're too old for this. It's a flashstep to the bathroom and you shower, get yourself clean in every fuckin way. Youuuuu...are gonna have one hell of a necklace in the morning. A real _choker_. You have clawmarks up your sides and down your hips, and bite marks that are gonna scar. He put his mark on you, right efuckingnough. Especially that one on your shoulder. That fucker is deep as shit. You dab yourself over with antiseptic, but even if the bite is deep, it's nothing that can be stitched so you slap gauze over it and call it good. 

Where the fuck did all of that come from?

Crawling back onto the futon with boxers pulled on over your bare ass, you unhook the back and let it crash down, getting a sleepy snort from the stoner who seems to have taken up residence. Shoving him over, you pull up some sheets and slide your shades back onto your face. "Go the fuck to sleep." He's cool on your side, and definitely not human as he snorts and turns into you, like he didn't just get through telling you in exquisite detail how he'd dejoint you like a chicken and fuck a hole in your chest. Why the shit had that been hot? You'll worry about everything else later...including how to explain this to the lil man. Or maybe you won't. Maybe you just won't explain shit. It's not like this is going to happen again, and you owe exactly jack and fucking shit in terms of excusing what you do with your own happy fun zones. You close your eyes behind your shades and go to sleep.

Thankfully, seems like you don't have to explain shit in the morning. Makara is gone, and your apartment seems to be empty for the first time in a fuckin while, thank the Good Lord and slap your ass. Or maybe not, because shiiit. Shit. You'd kind of been joking to yourself about getting old but _god damn_ , you're pretty sure you used to bounce back quicker than this. Stretching hurts but you force yourself through your routine, bending, twisting. Ignore the ache in your ass and the pull of the bites as you make yourself do the full bitching mess. And then to punish yourself for being a weak ass pussy bitch - you do it again. You're sore, sweating and shaking by the time you're done and the shower is a relief. Wash yourself clean, put on a new shirt and pop the collar up to hide the bruising on your throat and you're done. You slide your shades on, spike your hair and finger-gun yourself in the mirror as you moonwalk out of the bathroom, hang a left and go into the kitchen to see about restoring yourself further to the status of not comatose.

Your phone buzzes at you and you pick it up, sipping from your first cup of coffee, burning down your raw throat and landing acidic in your stomach in a way that makes it kinda lurch - you need breakfast burritos like burning but the freezer's empty (your own fuckin fault, you need to shop and not just use the fridge to put your swords in). You're glad you're alone when you see who's messaging you, because that upshoot of your eyebrow just couldn't be hidden by shades and you like to maintain a stoic stance of utter immovability to the world. Impenetrable object, unstoppable force of machismo powered by your fuckin dick. Of course you know the lil man's bucketbuddy's chat handle. You know a whoooole lot of shit about him. He's your lil man, your baby bro. You checked everything you could find, you probably knew more about what turned the shouty little fuck on than your brother did. All those secret, terrible internet searches in the dead of night that you jack to and then feel immediate regret about right after orgasm. Everything. Knowing all the shit about all of Dave's friends was kind of one of your things. You had to keep him safe, right? You're really reconsidering your early write off of the juggalo too - you shoulda researched that shit, you're slipping, you done fucked up there, son.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling telaesthesicTrakehner [TT]

CG: SO THIS IS SERIOUSLY STRIDER THE LARGEST, RIGHT?  
CG: I DON'T WANT TO EMBARRASS MYSELF FURTHER UNTIL YOU FUCKING CONFIRM THAT YOU ARE THE DOUCHELORD KING THAT I'M TRYING TO CONTACT.  
TT: well, hey look who it is, shouty mcgee his own short stacked self  
TT: and where did you dig up this handle from, huh?  
TT: punk  
TT: go trawling through your boyfriend's phone like a jealous girlfriend snooping to see what hot bitches he's talking to behind your back?  
CG: WAIT, HOW DID YOU  
CG: OH MY SWEET MERCIFUL FUCKING GOD. I KNOW HOW YOU KNOW MY FUCKING CHAT HANDLE. YOU DID THE CREEP THING DAVE MENTIONED WHERE YOU FERRET THROUGH THE TINIEST MOST DISGUSTING CRACKS OF THE INTERNET UNTIL YOU KNOW EVERY FUCKING THING ABOUT A PERSON  
CG: BECAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING TALKING TO DAVE.  
CG: AND YOU'RE A GOD DAMN CREEP.  
TT: hey now lil guy  
TT: i'm allowed to be concerned about the calibre of hoes n bros my bro is gathering around himself  
TT: like what is this person are they a crack dealer are they gonna lead my precious lil man down the path of sincerity and meth  
TT: you passed the test  
TT: so  
TT: adjust your bust before it combusts  
TT: calm the calamity that is your mammaries  
CG: SWEET FUCKING CHRIST ON A ROTATING CRACKER, THEY'RE CALLED RUMBLESPHERES AND DON'T FUCKING YOU EVER LOOK AT MY CHEST.  
CG: ME IN GENERAL. FUCK, WHY ARE YOU SO CREEPY.  
TT: yeah, i don't think i care  
TT: so what brought on this?  
TT: i hardly fuckin doubt you would be snooping through baby d's phone if you didn't think you had a good reason  
TT: at least you fuckin better vantas  
CG: WOW, WAS THAT A THREAT? I DON'T GIVE A SINGLE FLYING FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK IS CROSSING THE FUCKING LINE, BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT BOUNDARIES ARE AND YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON TO SCOLD ANYONE ABOUT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOUR IN RELATIONSHIPS.  
CG: BUT YES, I HAD A FUCKING REASON.  
CG: SO MY MOIRAIL CAME HOME WITH ONE, A BLACK EYE AND SOME PRETTY SPECTACULAR SCRATCHES.  
CG: AND TWO, A SMUPPET.  
CG: CARE TO FUCKING EXPLAIN THE CORRELATION BETWEEN THESE TWO FACTS, DOUCHEFUCK?  
CG: ALSO I'M ASSUMING BECAUSE YOU'RE TEXTING ME BACK, I DON'T NEED TO CALL YOU AN AMBULANCE OR SOME FORM OF MEDICAL ASSISTANCE.  
TT: concerned for lil ole me? sugar i am fuckin touched  
TT: remember to leave room for jesus, don't get too cosy on me now  
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT MEANS AND I DON'T WANT TO.  
CG: GAMZEE CAN GET A LITTLE...INTENSE.  
CG: AND SINCE HE WOULDN'T TALK TO ME ABOUT IT IN ANY KIND OF COHERENT DETAIL, I ASSUMED IT WAS SOMETHING CONCUPISCENT.  
CG: AND YOU ARE SOME UNSTOPPABLE BAD ASS BLAH BLAH FUCKITY BLAH, BUT YOU'RE STILL HUMAN. I'M PRETTY SURE YOU ARE, ANYWAY, I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THE IDEA THAT YOU'RE SECRETLY A TERMINATOR ROBOT.  
TT: wow  
TT: so like is this like a thing you do when you figure out your snugglebuddy has gone out and hooked up?  
TT: regularly, i'm just getting this vibe of you sticking your god damn nose where it doesn't belong  
TT: who's got boundary issues now, i think i'm getting this sense of  
TT: oh yeah, it's projection  
CG: NOW WHOSE FUCKING HEFTSACKS NEED CALMING?  
CG: LOOK, HE'S MY MOIRAIL AND I'M COMPLETELY FUCKING AWARE OF WHAT HE CAN DO TO SOMEBODY ON A PLATFORM. MORE THAN YOU KNOW.  
TT: get down with the clown, bruh?  
CG: DON'T START WITH ME, OR SO HELP ME I WILL REACH THROUGH THE FUCKING TUBES OF THE INTERNET, BYPASSING THE PROGRAMMING OF THIS CHAT CLIENT, TO FUCKING THROTTLE YOU UNTIL YOU'RE BLUE IN THE FACE. IT IS A FEAT OF REALITY BREAKING PHYSICS THAT WILL BE POWERED BY MY PURE RAGE, UNRESTRAINED, UNSTOPPABLE AND VOMITING BILE.  
TT: you'd just be finishing off what your diamond stud started so that'd be fine by me  
TT: oh mr vantas oh  
CG: NO SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU ACTUALLY ALRIGHT? STOP BEING SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE WHEN SOMEONE IS TRYING TO ASCERTAIN YOUR FUCKING STATE OF HEALTH.  
TT: dude have you even seen my porn  
CG: NO, THANK EVERY FUCKING MERCIFUL ELDER GOD THAT SLITHERS THROUGH THE FROZEN DEPTHS OF UNREALITY, I HAVE NOT. I HAVE KEPT MY RETINAS PURE.  
TT: i'm fine  
TT: i'm a big boy i can stitch my own booboos  
TT: which i have, many a time long before you wriggled out of your lil candy bright mutant egg  
TT: or he slid out from whatever fucking rock juggalos hatch out from under  
CG: HE'S NOT A FUCKING JUGGALO, THAT'S...UGH, YOU KNOW WHAT? WHAT FUCKING EVER.  
CG: YOU'RE ALIVE AND WELL ENOUGH TO BE A BITCH ABOUT SHIT, SO YOU MUST BE OK AND MY SOCIOPATHIC MOIRAIL DIDN'T DISMEMBER YOU AND STICK YOU IN A DUMPSTER, SO WE'RE DONE.  
TT: tell him it's tree fiddy for the smuppet  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK?  
TT: $350  
TT: you think that shit is cheap?  
TT: oh no my friend, my amigo, mi hombre, ese. that shit is muy expensive  
TT: that is pure fucking smut craftsmanship made into a one of a kind sex pervertible by yours truly  
TT: and he fucking owes me tree fiddy  
TT: so buckle up, buckaroo, and he better cough it up or i'll be coming for him  
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD. NO. WE ARE NOT PAYING ANYTHING FOR THAT DISGUSTING THING THAT HE BROUGHT HOME LIKE THE WORST KIND OF PURRBEAST.  
TT: you better tell him i am because i'm serious here  
TT: bitch i want my money 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling telaesthesicTrakehner [TT]

 

You chuckle, and flip your phone closed, sliding it into your backpocket and rotating your thumb to get the kinks out. The Motorola Razr is a classic, but the buttons are a bitch when you're supertapping out those texts at the speed of light. Boosting the insides to the point where it could handle Pesterchum was a nice afternoon project. What, just because you make a living off porn, you must be stupid? Fuck no, you're just lazy and fucking exhibitionistic as hell. Anyway.

You don't plan on hooking up again. This is a grease paint smeared chapter in your life that you think you're gonna put an end to, close the book on, just call it quits. You don't have time for any new fetishes. And again - too old for this kinda shit. Putting the juggalo troll firmly on the no no pile, you stare out at the brick wall outside your window and sip your coffee and think about what you're gonna do for your next video. Maybe you should do something while you're marked up...you bet the BDSM crowd would get a kick out of it. Might bring in some extra cash...and you're always about the money.

Fuck boys, get money.

Words to fucking live by.


End file.
